


Neither You Nor Me

by PersonyPepper



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Child Neglect, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Past Child Abuse, blood mention, implied emotional abuse, jaskier trips and falls and thinks he's about to die, ventfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27605293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonyPepper/pseuds/PersonyPepper
Summary: He should be used to it by now. He’s spent a childhood tiptoeing away from his parents and flinching at the vile words they don’t care to hide. Disappointment, they call him, embarrassment. And Jaskier should be used to it, even if his heart feels like its wringing itself dry. He’s leaving soon anyway, they won’t matter anymore.(They do, they always will. He pretends not to cry as no one cares to see him off in a carriage too rich.)Or, Jaskier just wants to be tolerated.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 23
Kudos: 413





	Neither You Nor Me

**Author's Note:**

> This was entirely a ventfic so uh dont mind me lol

He should be used to it by now. He’s spent a childhood tiptoeing away from his parents and flinching at the vile words they don’t care to hide. _Disappointment_ , they call him, _embarrassment_. And Jaskier should be used to it, even if his heart feels like its wringing itself dry. He’s leaving soon anyway, they won’t matter anymore.

(They do, they always will. He pretends not to cry as no one cares to see him off in a carriage too rich.)

\--

Oxenfurt is an adventure anew. He can be anyone, anything! He can _make_ himself, design himself to be anything but a disappointment and an embarrassment and oh, how he works. His hands feel like they’re going to be permanently stained, and that the side of his finger will grow an indent with how long he grips his quill. But his teachers call him an _A-plus student_ , and a _hard-worker_. And those aren’t quite compliments, he knows, but they’re better than disappointment and embarrassment so he takes pride in them. 

And then _overachiever_ , Valdo calls him, _desperate to be loved_ , he spits when they split, and Jaskier graduates cum laude but it feels like swallowing spikes of poison that tear at his throat with each forced smile. Never good enough, no matter how he tries— just someone, he wants _someone_ to be proud of him. No, even tolerate him would do. Valdo sneers, spits at his feet. Jaskier doesn’t see his parents at his graduation ceremony; he never sees them again.

\--

There’s a witcher in the corner. He’s gloomy and brooding and Jaskier is already a disappointment, an embarrassment, an overachiever, and a desperate fuck so what’s he got to lose? “I like how you just…” amber eyes turn to him, and Jaskier feels his breath catch “Sit in the corner and brood,” he stutters out. The man hums. Might as well add _hopelessly pining bastard to the list_ , Jaskier thinks, and tags along for a ride on the Path. 

\--

Geralt kissed him. A year on the road, and Jaskier’s had his first kiss— more importantly, he’s had his first kiss with the absolute man of his dreams. If Jaskier were to be struck down now, he’d go happily, knowing that this witcher liked him enough to _kiss_ him.

And surely, that means he tolerated— “He’s just a bother, Yen!” Something crashes in the tent behind him, a faint candlelight highlighting two shadows behind the canopy. Jaskier flinches. The forest around them grows silent, and the heat from their campfire feels awfully cold all of a sudden. Roach flicks her tail. He hadn’t even noticed Geralt had left after the kiss, too elated to be— “I _don’t_. _Stop_.” His words are filled with such spite. Jaskier doesn’t— Jaskier isn’t sure… 

Of anything. 

Well, of anything but how unwanted he is. By anyone; his parents, his best friend, and how, he thinks with dull humor, by a man that no one else wants. How ironic that even the unwanteds don't want Jaskier, how ironic. Roach snorts at him as Jaskier, with the lute strapped this back and his satchel of song and the scarce coin he has left, walks into undergrowth and into the dark of the forest. He supposes even it won’t want him. He’ll find a road soon enough when it decides to spit him out. 

Hilarious. The blood flows freely from his head, eyesight going blurry. Fucking _hilarious_. Seems the forest decided to keep him after all, with a root and a rock placed in just the right spot. At least he fell face-front, his lute should be fine. If fucking wolves didn’t decide to feast on his flesh. Fuck, did wolves even eat human flesh? Whatever, something bigger would come through, surely— he can already hear footsteps and panting breathing, great. Geralt isn’t coming, is he? Gods, why would he. Jaskier really should be used to—

“Jaskier? Jaskier!” Jaskier chooses that very moment to pass out. 

He wakes to the press of a wet nose against his cheek. Roach whinnies, tail thumping the ground, and Jaskier grimaces at the bright light of the fire as he opens his eyes. “You’re stupid.” Yennefer looks down at him from a feather-stuffed chair, one leg swung over the other. Ah, the wonders of magic, Jaskier supposes. Should’ve become a sorcerer, would’ve had a better chance at making himself… well, not Jaskier, he supposes.

“Tell me something I don’t know, witch—”

“I was talking to Geralt, bard.” Jaskier groans as he sits up, raising a hand to his now-bandaged forehead. Great. It feels wet with his blood. Not great. Yennefer turns to Geralt, who sits as grumpily and broodily as always, though maybe with a hint of— what’s that? Guilt? Jaskier rolls his eyes and paws for his lute. Best get out of here before Geralt—

“Jaskier.” Jaskier winces, sways a little as he stands to grab his lute by Yennefer’s tent. He doesn’t want to hear this, he’s heard enough over his lifetimes, thank you very much. “Jaskier,” and Geralt sounds so tired. Fair, Jaskier’s known to make people tired, always too much, or in Geralt’s own words, a _bother_. His head throbs, fuck. And it’s so dark now, with the setting sun. He can barely see the north star— or any star for that matter, but. Yeah. There are footsteps behind him, crunching under the fallen leaves of early autumn, and two sturdy arms wrap around his chest. 

He’s dragged backwards a couple steps, his back to Geralt’s chest in a hug, the witcher’s breath tickling his hair. What the fuck? His heartbeat’s right against Jaskier’s heart, their bodies aligned if Geralt’s a little wider. 

“Geralt!” He says, too cheerfully. Trying to escape his grip is like trying to escape a bear trap, sharp claws digging into the meat of his chest, making him bleed with feigned want. “Hello! I shall be out of your hair shortly, and you will forget, of course, the greatest bard to ever exist!” Melitele, what’s he saying. He struggles harder, and Geralt holds him closer. Jaskier doesn’t let the first inklings of hope settle in, _finally_ _used to it,_ he muses. 

“For fuck’s sake—” Yenn starts.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Geralt breathes. Jaskier melts into his embrace stupidly. He really should know better. “I pa— hm.” There it is. He begins struggling again; Geralt obviously doesn’t want to do this, and all of them know how good Yennefer is at coercing people, even stubborn witchers. “I panicked,” Geralt blurts, letting go of him. “I’m sorry, I panicked, and Yennefer—” 

“I teased him.” 

“She teased me, and I _panicked_.” Jaskier wonders if he’s still passed out on that rock, hallucinating. “I’ve never— not men. Or _romance_ ,” he says it like it personally offends him, like it's a snake on the side of the road that fills him with distaste and liking all the same because it’s both vile and pretty. “I’m sorry.” And gentle arms wrap around Jaskier again, amber eyes peering down at him. Perhaps he’d gotten used to it too soon. Perhaps, for acceptance, hope is worth another try. 

“Alright, but you say that shit again and I’m—”

Unnervingly understanding eyes stare into his, and Jaskier grimaces. “She told you, didn’t she?” He can practically feel the smugness radiating off of her. “She told you how pathetic, how unwanted I am,” he says, “didn’t she?” he whispers. 

Geralt shakes his head, a bare shift of his neck. “She told me how lovable,” Jaskier’s breath hitches all over, “and how stupid I was for not letting myself like you.” 

Jaskier hums, presses their foreheads together; Geralt presses their lips together. Unfed wolves howl in the distance.

(Yennefer’s smugness intensifies to unhealthy amounts.)

**Author's Note:**

> lemme know what you thought :) 
> 
> tumblr's @persony-pepper


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